


I held on you (haunted by the ghost of something new)

by congratsyouvegrownasoul



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cathartic Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Maric is a sweet puppy and Fiona is starting to heal, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 19:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18321680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/congratsyouvegrownasoul/pseuds/congratsyouvegrownasoul
Summary: It isn’t the same, not at all, and it’s unfair to him that his hands on her make her remember. She doesn’t want to make him scared to touch her at all.





	I held on you (haunted by the ghost of something new)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siddals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siddals/gifts).



Once the heated flush of their lovemaking has worn off, Fiona starts to shiver, with wet skirts wrapped around her legs and the clammy air of the deep roads on her bare chest. Wordlessly, Maric pulls her close to his chest, lying cramped and crooked together on the hard stone floor of the cave. His body feels warm and solid against hers, a pleasurable weight. Maric is tall even for a human man, with sturdy arms and broad shoulders, and a little softness in his stomach--a warrior, but out of practice. In his arms, she feels both protected and comfortable--at least as comfortable as she can be in their current surroundings. 

Fiona idly traces her hand along Maric’s forearm, fingertip grazing the little freckles dotted along his skin. She hadn’t noticed at first, but he has them on his nose as well. They fade into his face, unless you’re close enough to kiss him. 

His lips brush the top of her head, ghosting along her hairline. She can feel him breathing against her, a soft contented hum. One of his hands winds its way up petting the side of her head. He catches hold, tugs on a strand of her hair. The touch is gentle, just a feathery pull on her scalp, but Fiona’s breath still snags in her throat. She can feel her heart start to speed up, hammering on her ribcage so hard she is sure Maric must be able to feel it. She tries to calm herself down, to bring back the sated peace she felt a moment before, but it slips from the corners of her mind. 

She pulls away from Maric, sitting bolt upright. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees his startled expression, the confused look in his eyes as he props himself up on his elbows. She feels a pang of guilt, for spoiling their time together. 

“I--I don’t like it when people touch my hair. It’s nothing about you--just don’t touch my hair”

When she was a little girl, her master used to pet her and play with her hair like that, a tenderness that still left her feeling tangled up inside. He had made her wear her hair long, with ribbons braided in to match her dresses. So pretty, he’d always said. Her first week in the Circle, she’d borrowed a pair of embroidery scissors and hacked off all her hair, cutting it so close she’d scratched her scalp. 

The memories she’s pushed away for so long are back in force now, clawing up out of the depths of her. She almost tells Maric, but she can’t quite bring herself to. It isn’t the same, not at all, and it’s unfair to him that his hands on her make her remember. She doesn’t want to make him scared to touch her at all. 

He stares at her, considering, head tilted slightly to one side. He still looks a bit bemused, but his mouth hardens, determined, as if he understands some of what she’s not telling him.

“You can touch mine, if you like,” he says slowly. “It’s all right with me. Everybody says I’ve got nice hair.”

Fiona lets out a sharp little breath of startled laughter, then bites her lip. She scoots back towards him, tentatively brushing a stray curl out of his eyes. It shines in the faint firelight, tinted golden instead of the light blonde she remembers from aboveground. 

“Is that good for you?” Maric asks, with a nervous smile.

“It’s...fine. Do you like it?”

“I like anything you do to me, pretty much.”

Fiona brushes her thumb past his ear, meandering into the thick, soft locks at his temples. Longer than her own, they’re still damp from his wash earlier and cling to her fingers slightly. She has to admit, it’s a pleasant sensation. 

Maric closes his eyes and slides down to put his head in her lap. That’s the best thing he could do right now, she thinks. With his head cradled in between her legs, sturdy limbs flopped around her, he’s about as unintimidating as possible. Fiona wonders if he knows this, or if it’s just a happy accident. Maybe Maric’s right--he was just born lucky. Either way, as her breathing starts to slow down again, Fiona feels, unexpectedly, a bit lucky herself.


End file.
